


Follow the Leader

by Lila82



Series: Catastrophe and the Cure [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lila82/pseuds/Lila82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn lives; Bellamy still gets the girl.  Clarke comes to terms with herself too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part III in my post-2x08 series, "Catastrophe and the Cure"

 

* * *

 

_“You can follow your gut or you can follow the past.”_  


  


In her dreams, she’s floating: cool air on her skin and wind in her hair and a vast, gaping blackness for as far as her eye can see. Space is empty, endless, closing in with a deep, sucking silence.

They say that in space, no one can hear you scream. 

Clarke tests that theory, reaches for purchase amongst the stars, throws her head back and opens her mouth – 

She wakes gasping for breath, fingers clutching at the sweat soaked sheets. Her head aches, pounds in time to the noises of the camp, and she carefully pushes her hair back from her face.

She’s alive and her people are coming home and still…sometimes she wishes she’d left her skybox in an entirely different way.

 

* * *

 

It’s a long walk to Lexa’s camp. 

Clarke can feel the weight of so many eyes, Grounder and Sky People alike, pressing in on her as she closes the gap. Raven’s knife is there too, smooth and cold against her wrist. She keeps her arm steady to avoid the sharp bite of the blade.

She wants to turn back. She wants to hide behind the wire, Bellamy at her side, while her mother and Kane deal with the Commander. It’s too much, Finn’s life in her hands and the fate of the mountain tied up in this alliance. She never asked for it, but there’s nowhere left to run.

It hurts, sharp flint cutting into the thin skin of her belly, but she ignores the blood pooling around Indra’s spear. It will likely scar, but it won’t kill her. Nothing’s killed her yet.

So she straightens her shoulders and thins her mouth into a flat line and doesn’t back down. “I’m here to talk to your commander.” She bites down on the inside of her cheek as the spear sinks deeper. “Let me through.”

“Let her pass,” Lexa calls from across the camp and Indra glares at Clarke but obeys the command. Lexa’s face is impassive as Clarke approaches. “You bleed for nothing. You cannot stop this.”

Clarke keeps her expression neutral, but lets a note of pleading creep into her voice. This is her only chance; she needs to let Lexa see how much it matters. “No, only you can,” Clarke says, her voice nearly drowned out by the Grounders’ cries. They’re leading Finn towards the center of the camp, hands bound as he approaches a tall, wooden post, and Clarke’s heart clenches when she sees how they’re running out of time. “Show my people how powerful you are,” she urges. “Show them you can be merciful.” Out of the corner of her eye, she watches two warriors tie Finn to the post. Lincoln’s words replay in her ears, _“It starts with fire…”_ “There’s another way.”

Lexa’s eyes are sad. “We are what we are.”

Clarke shakes her head. “My people might have started this war, but you can end it. There doesn’t need to be more blood.” She inhales sharply, exhales the memory of the three hundred of Lexa’s men that she burned alive. “I’m soaked in Grounder blood, but no more.” She turns her eyes to Finn, now tied to the post. Even from this distance, she can see the terror in his eyes. “He killed eighteen people – eighteen _innocent_ people – but the cycle needs to end.”

Lexa seems intrigued, but she has her own weight to bear. There are a thousand eyes watching her too. “What are you proposing?”

“We put him on trial. We declare him guilty and determine an appropriate punishment.” She pauses, reaches out to grasp Lexa’s wrist, feels the edge of Raven’s knife cut into her skin even as she ignores the shrieks rising around her. Lexa holds up a hand to silence her warriors, looks Clarke squarely in the eye. Hers are weary but relieved, and it gives Clarke hope because it’s a bit like looking into herself. She tightens her fingers. “Whatever we decide, Finn doesn’t die. No one dies anymore.” She sucks in another breath while Lexa deliberates.

“My people will help decide his fate,” Lexa declares and Clarke lets out that breath . She hadn’t expected such quick acceptance. 

“Yes. Representatives from both our peoples will be at the trial.” 

Lexa nods and flexes her wrist so Clarke lets go, changes the angle so their fingers twine together in an awkward handshake. “We will try your way,” Lexa agrees. Her voice is dispassionate, but Clarke still hears the threat in her words. If her people fail, if they can’t come to an agreement, the Grounders will slaughter them all.

“We won’t disappoint you,” Clarke assures her and Lexa doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push back either. Instead, she makes a motion with her hand and waits patiently while three men twice her size hurry over. 

Within minutes Finn is kneeling before Clarke, shaking and still terrified, but alive. From across the camp, Clarke can feel the heat of Indra’s wrath, the confusion in the Grounders’ eyes, but she ignores their stares and drags Finn to his feet. She needs to get him behind their walls before Lexa changes her mind, or Indra steps out of turn, or one of those warriors decides their army needs a different commander. 

“We begin at first light,” Lexa says and Clarke nods her agreement before starting the long walk back to her people. She can still feel all those eyes on her, waits for a spear to lodge in her back with every step they take. 

“Thank you,” Finn says the moment they’re on the run.

Clarke’s quiet a moment, relief washing over her as the camp comes into focus; from this distance, she can even see the pride in Bellamy’s eyes. “I didn’t do it for you,” she finally says, wraps an arm around Finn’s shoulders to hurry him along. 

“I owe you my life,” he says, breathing heavy as they practically sprint the final stretch. 

Clarke doesn’t respond, concentrates instead on the burn in her chest as they push for the gate. Raven throws herself at Finn the moment he steps into camp and they fall to the ground in a twist of arms and legs. Clarke stops beside them, crouches in the dirt to find her breath.

She saved Finn’s life, but if she’s learned anything from this place, it’s that there are no guarantees. She digs her hands into the soft earth, rubs it between her fingers as cheers rise around her, as the weight of all those Grounder eyes threaten to crush her. 

She prays that she made the right choice.

 

* * *

 

As promised, the Grounder contingent arrives at dawn.

Lexa leads them with Indra at her shoulder and three others trailing behind. Clarke recognizes the healer Nyko, but the others are unfamiliar. They remove their masks at the gate to reveal an older man and a young girl about the same age as Tris.

Lexa’s second, Clarke realizes, remembers Anya’s words. Grounders learn by doing. Of course the next in line would be present for this experiment. She’s glad this time there’s no child at the losing end of a war.

Abby steps forward to greet them. Introductions are quickly made and terms are set – they’ll use the Council Room for the trial; three representatives from each side will deliver the sentence.

It’s when they name the jurors that Clarke sees red. “You can’t be serious,” she snaps when her mother tells her that she won’t participate. “I’m the one who made this happen!”

“You’re too close to the situation, honey,” Abby says and inclines her head. On the other side of the yard, Indra is having a similar conversation with Lexa. “We decided this together.” 

Clarke is glad that they’re all getting along, but it doesn’t make her any less concerned for Finn. She got Lexa to promise not to kill him but that doesn’t mean he’ll walk out with all his limbs. “Mom, please,” she tries, but Abby just leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Abby promises and steps back, walks to where Lexa and her team are waiting by the Ark. 

It’s not going to fine, not in the least, and Clarke thinks of that old adage, being careful about what she wishes for, because she wanted it to stop and now everything is spinning out of control. 

She takes a calming breath because there’s no point in crying, even less point in punching something and messing up her hand. She blinks back tears and stares at the entrance to the makeshift courtroom, eyes rounding when the final member joins the group. 

His hair is slicked back from his face and he’s wearing a new shirt, something that even buttons up the front, but it’s still Bellamy. He nods as he glances in her direction and Clarke reads his silent words: _I got this_.

Just like that she knows it’ll be okay.

 

* * *

 

Raven and Indra glare daggers at each other while the jury deliberates. 

Finn sits in silence, bound at his hands and feet by the Grounder guards that appeared on their heels the night before. Clarke can’t see their faces behind their masks, but she imagines they’re exhausted. They sat, alert and awake, outside Finn’s cell for the entire night.

Raven isn’t happy with Clarke either. Finn’s alive, but his fate is up in the air. Even though he’ll live, they don’t know if they’ll ever see him again. 

“You should have listened to me,” she whispers, soft enough that Indra can’t hear them across the yard.

Clarke represses the urge to roll her eyes. “You know I did the right thing. If we want to get our people out of Mount Weather, we can’t afford another war.” Raven is silent as she digs a stick through the dirt. Clarke reaches over and lays her hand atop her friend’s. “He’s alive, Raven. Let’s be grateful for that.”

Raven flinches slightly and when Clarke looks at her, there are tears in her eyes. “He’s here because of me.” 

“What?”

A tear rolls down Raven’s cheek. “I got the only perfect score in Zero G-Mech history, but I failed the physical.” She presses a hand against her chest. “I have a heart murmur. It’s like a trillion to one that I’ll ever feel it, but they didn’t want to waste the training on me.” She pauses and more tears roll down her cheeks. “Finn found a way for me to fly anyway. We got caught and he took the fall.”

“I don’t understand,” Clarke says. “You _were_ a Zero-G Mech.”

Raven nods through her tears. “They eventually changed their minds. I got what I wanted and Finn ended up here.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t you see?” Raven’s voice is high-pitched with pain. “I sent him here. If he hadn’t gone to the Skybox for me, he would have – ”

“Come down with the Ark?” Clarke asks. “Half the stations died in the crash, and even more people died before they left. He’s here and he’s alive. That’s the part that matters.”

“He killed eighteen people.”

It’s Clarke’s turn for tears to form in her eyes. She didn’t pick up the gun, didn’t pull the trigger, but he still did it for her. She knows, in the depths of her mind she _knows_ it’s not her fault, but it doesn’t make the guilt any easier to bear. “He killed them for me,” she finally says and it’s Raven’s turn to offer comfort.

Thin arms wrap around Clarke’s back and she buries her face in Raven’s hair, holds onto her friend like the world is ending. And maybe it is. Even if Finn lives, even if the truce holds, there’s no reason the Mountain Men won’t smite them from the earth.

“Finn should go on trial more often.” 

Clarke and Raven break apart to blink up at Bellamy. He’s smirking, but his eyes are serious, and Clarke understands immediately, the way he’s padding bad news with a joke. 

“What’s the verdict?” Clarke asks, grasps Raven’s hand and pulls them to their feet in unison. Raven leans into her a little to hear the news.

The smile falls from Bellamy’s face and Raven’s fingers cinch almost painfully around Clarke’s. “Eighteen months hard labor,” he says softly. “One month for each death. When his sentence is over, we’ll reevaluate.”

“What happens while he’s there?” Raven asks.

Bellamy looks pained. “Whatever the hell they want.”

Raven doesn’t understand, but Clarke does: how hard Bellamy must have fought, how much it hurts to lose. She reaches out, lays a hand on his forearm. “You did your best.”

He shrugs, but a muscle jumps in his cheek that betrays his indifference. “He isn’t dead,” Bellamy says and Raven nods along. She isn’t crying and it worries Clarke. An emotional Raven is a predictable Raven; she doesn’t think she’ll like the outcome of whatever gears are turning in her friend’s head. 

“This is good,” Clarke says, pushes aside her own concerns. She achieved her goal; she can’t worry about the fallout. Her priority has to be keeping Raven in check.

“Eighteen months,” Raven finally says. Her jaw tightens and her eyes flare. “If anything happens to him…the Grounders won’t be the only ones reevaluating.” 

She stalks off towards engineering and Clarke turns back to Bellamy, keeps blinking at him in the sunlight. “I never doubted you,” she says. She owes him a thank you too, but he needs to know this more – she believes in him. It’s hard to remember when she _didn’t_ believe in him.

He smiles, a real smile, and blinks back at her. “You’re welcome.” 

They stand there for a moment, two people enjoying a sunny day on earth, before Clarke remembers who they are. _What_ they are.

She lets go of Bellamy’s arm. There’s always more work to do.

 

* * *

 

Lexa is kind in addition to merciful, and despite Indra’s protests, allows a goodbye.

Finn’s locked in a toolshed, hands bound and head bowed. He looks up when Clarke opens the door, and his eyes are the same warm brown that stole her heart. He broke it too, but that doesn’t keep it from clenching in her chest. 

She slips into an empty chair and he watches her from across the table. His hands are bound, and she keeps her eyes fixed on the fraying ropes wound around his wrists. He likely won’t ever touch her again. She’s surprisingly okay with it.

Things have been strained between them since the dropship, since Lincoln’s village, since she brought guns to the bridge and trusted Bellamy more than him. “How are you?” she finally asks, just to break the silence. 

He smiles, the same loose, easy grin she remembers, and it makes her heart clench even harder. “They didn’t kill me.”

Clarke shakes her head. “They won’t either. You do your time and then – ” 

“Do you forgive me?”

“What?” The question takes her by surprise and when she looks at Finn, she doesn’t recognize the boy staring back at her. His jaw is tense, his eyes hard, and his tone is crueler than she remembers.

“Do you forgive me?”

“I…” she starts, trails off to gather her thoughts. She knows what’s he’s asking, that conversation replaying with crystal clarity in her mind: _“I’m in love with you. Everything that’s happened, everything I’ve done…all that matters is that you’re okay.”_ So many dead and he wants atonement. She’s glad he’s alive, but that’s all she can give.

“I loved you,” she starts again. “You made this place into something good. You made me think I had a future here.” His eyes soften, all the hardness melting into the boy she remembers, but it doesn’t lessen her resolve. “I still have a future here, but it’s not with you.”

“Because of Bellamy?” 

His eyes are a sad rather than soft, and it makes her heart clench in a very different way. “Because you killed eighteen people.”

“I was looking – ”

Clarke jumps to her feet, the anger making her cheeks flush. “You’re one of my people and I will always fight for you, but I can’t do this anymore. Good luck, Finn.” She starts for the door.

“Clarke, wait,” he calls out and she pauses, fingers clutching the doorknob. “Will you look at me, please?” 

She sighs as she turns, inwardly cursing the hold he still has over her. He’s her first love; he’ll always be a part of her. “Finn…”

“I’m doing a sorry job of showing it, but I know what you risked to help me. Thanks, Princess.” He takes a step forward, then another, and keeps walking until she’s backed up against the door and he’s leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Thank you for everything.”

Finn steps back and smiles, that dopey grin back on his face, like the Finn from their first night on earth, and it’s the last thing she sees before she walks through the door.

She doesn’t know the next time she’ll lay eyes on him. It’s easier to remember him this way.

 

* * *

 

Clarke rubs her eyes and tries not to wince as Abby drones on about safety precautions. 

It’s been a week since Finn’s trial and the planning for the attack on Mount Weather has started in earnest. There are daily meetings with the Lexa and her generals, but they’re hammering out their own team’s configuration today.

They don’t want the kids to go. That’s really what the argument’s about. No one seems to care how well Murphy knows the terrain, or that Octavia has relationships with multiple Grounders. They want the “kids” behind the walls while the “adults” do the heavy lifting. After the massacre, and the dropship, and Clarke’s confrontation with Lexa, Raven’s Gate has been closed and guards have trailed behind them all hours of the day. There’s no getting around Abby’s increasingly tight control.

“I’m the only one who’s actually been to Mount Weather,” Clarke argues. She’s already spent most of the meeting glaring mutinously at her mother. “I know the compound and how it works. I need to be on the team.”

“We have your map,” Kane says in return. “Let the Guard handle it.”

Abby jumps on board. “I need you here.”

It’s a load of bull and Clarke doesn’t bother trying to hide her glare. Jackson is more than capable of handling any medical issues. “You’re the chancellor,” she points out. “You’re needed here more than anyone.”

“You’re my daughter, “ Abby says. “I can’t lose you again.”

“You don’t have a daughter,” Bellamy says softly. He’s been silent the entire meeting, although Clarke’s watched his eyes follow the conversation. That muscle ticks in his cheek as all eyes turn to him.

“Excuse me?” 

Bellamy’s voice is deep and commanding when he explains. “You don’t have one daughter. You have three hundred twenty-three, forty-seven more in Mount Weather.” He shifts his eyes to the pin on Abby’s lapel. “If you can’t put them first, you shouldn’t be chancellor.”

Abby opens her mouth to speak, but Clarke’s quicker. With Bellamy, it’s easy to be one step ahead. “It’s not about me or about you. Our people are dying in that mountain. We do what’s necessary to bring them home.”

“Fine,” Abby says after a long, awkward moment. “What do you propose?”

Her eyes are on Bellamy, but he’s looking at Clarke, a calm, steady expression on his face. It’s increasingly familiar, that way he looks at her, not like she’s hung the moon but that she controls its wax and wane. 

He’s waiting for her to make the call; he’s telling her that he’ll support her no matter what she decides.

 

* * *

 

That night, Bellamy finds her by the gate. 

Clarke’s sitting in the grass and sipping a cup of tea. It’s hot, but the night air is cool and it helps keep her warm. It’s a little too chilly to be out and most of the camp has long turned in for the night, but Clarke likes the solitude. No one wants anything from her; no one forces choices too impossible to make.

She hears him long before she sees him, a steady thump of boots against the earth, a scratchy slide of fabric against the grass as he drops down next to her. 

“Seventeen months,” Bellamy says and Clarke glances up sharply, realizes she’s been staring absently into the depths of Lexa’s camp. She doesn’t look at Bellamy either, because she knows what he’s thinking, knows he thinks it’s Finn occupying her thoughts; she knows he thinks it's fear that makes her heart clench.

“Eighteen dead,” she says in response and it’s Bellamy’s turn to glance up sharply. 

“You must – ” he starts but she interrupts before he can finish. She spent enough time missing Finn when he was right next to her. She’s long since moved on.

“He asked me to forgive him, but I don’t think I can. Does that make me a bad person?”

Bellamy chuckles softly and some of the tension leaves his body. He leans back on his elbows and stretches his legs. “You’re the best person I know.” 

He’s many things, but a liar isn’t one of them, so Clarke swallows hard and takes sip of her still hot tea. It burns her throat and she coughs, tries to find feeling in her tongue.

His hand claps down on her back, pats roughly while she continues to cough, and that chuckle deepens into a full laugh. “You okay?”

Clarke manages to nod, smile through the pain. “If I’m not, I have you.” It’s not a question but a statement, a truth she knows as deeply as the probability of the sun rising and setting, but it makes Bellamy’s hand still on her back. 

It stays there a moment, warm and heavy through the fabric of her jacket, and Clarke forgets to breathe from the weight of it pressing into her. 

The moment ends and Bellamy pushes to his feet, mumbles something about a guard shift and disappears into the gloom. Clarke remains in the grass, hands clutching her cooling tea to keep her steady. 

Some weight is worth carrying.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

Life returns to normal in the days after Finn’s sentence. They work and they plan, build structures for winter and prep an attack on their enemies. Clarke barely remembers her life on the Ark, can’t believe she ever lived in a world at peace. She wouldn’t trade it though, her life on the ground for the safety of the Ark. Down here, at least she’s free.

It’s never been more real than when she sees Finn, confronts the bonds that tie him to his crime. It’s been a month since he left, a long month of planning and compromising, and she’s reviewing last minute preparations with Lexa when he walks by.

It takes her a minute to recognize him.

His skin is darker and his hair is longer, but it’s the changes to his face that take her most by surprise. There’s a small blue teardrop inked into the skin of his right cheek, just beneath his eye. Even when he smiles at her, it looks like he’s weeping.

She stops in mid-sentence, because he’s whole and seemingly unharmed. The Grounders didn’t go back on their word. If they can keep this part of the bargain, the rest of her people have a chance too.

“I’d like to speak with Finn,” Clarke says, intentionally phrasing it like a command. “I need to report back on his condition.”

Lexa doesn’t look pleased, but doesn’t turn her down either. She needs this alliance as much as Clarke. “You have five minutes,” she says, leaves the threat in her voice as she rolls up the map and walks off in Indra’s direction. 

Clarke has the table to herself, but Finn’s time isn’t his own. He can’t shirk his responsibilities to make small talk with one of the Sky People, so Clarke slowly crosses the square to start the conversation.

Finn’s smile widens when she’s in his space, so wide it nearly cracks his face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he says and puts down an empty water bucket. 

“How are you?” Clarke asks. She’s proud of how even her voice sounds, like she’s asking about no more than the weather. 

“Check out my arms.” Finn flexes, muscles rippling under the thin fabric of his shirt. He is bigger, stronger too, but it’s not the question Clarke was asking.

“Finn…” she starts, but he shakes his head, cuts her off with another smile.

“I’m fine. If you really want to know, it feels good to be useful.”

Clarke understands that feeling, better than she understands most things. It’s why she likes these meetings with Lexa; it’s one of the few times her mom eases up. She takes what she can get, even if she wants more. 

“But your face?” she asks and the smile falls from his lips.

“One down, seventeen more to go…” he trails off. 

“Finn!”

“It’s how they remember what I did. They want to be sure that I never forget.” He laughs without humor. “As if I could ever forget.” It’s the first time Clarke’s heard him admit he was at fault for what happened at Lincoln's village. It takes her by surprise, this turn of events, and he seizes the opportunity to change the subject. “How’s Raven?”

Clarke blinks to get back on track, forces her mind to focus on the topic at hand. “I don’t think she’s put her wrench down since you left.” 

Finn’s smile is full of nostalgia. “It’s how she keeps from going crazy.”

“I guess. She made enough radios for both camps combined. When we leave for Mount Weather, communicating with each other will be the least of our problems.” It’s good news, a rarity in their world, but the smile falls from Finn’s face again. “What?”

“They won’t let me go.”

“On the mission? Why not?” They need all the help they can get. Clarke figured Finn would top the list of those deemed expendable.

“For them, not being able to fight for your people is the greatest of insults.” He looks at her with eyes full of regret. “When you bring our people home, it won’t be because of me.” 

There’s a note of annoyance in his voice, and he looks at her in a way that asks Clarke to take his side, and it makes her skin crawl. She realizes, in all their conversations about the terrible thing he did, she’s never heard him say sorry; he’s never actually taken responsibility for the eighteen lives that he stole. 

“You still think you’re the hero,” Clarke gasps, doesn’t hide her disbelief. She thought they were making progress, but he’s just revealed his true colors. “You might be sorry those people died, but you don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“Clarke…” he starts, voice laced with desperation. He’s losing control of the situation and she can actually see his body tremble as he fights the urge to touch her. 

“You killed eighteen people,” she says flatly. “You murdered them in cold blood, and until you take responsibility for that…I don’t want to see you anymore.” She walks away before he can respond, and it’s a mean trick, because he can’t follow, but it feels good, the pain she knows he feels as she turns her back on him.

Lexa is waiting across the square, watches Clarke approach with a quizzical expression. Clarke takes a deep breath, puts on her mask. When she faces Lexa, she’s the cool counterpart the Grounder leader has come to know. “He doesn’t get more visitors.”

Clarke doesn’t look at Finn for the rest of the meeting, although she can sense him moving around the camp. He’s become a stranger, the villain in this story, but he still wears the face of a boy she used to love.

 

* * *

 

Her talk with Finn sits in the pit of her stomach, rises back up in a flood of bile when she remembers the stubbornness in his eyes. How can he truly repent for his crimes if he won’t face all he did wrong? How can they do better if it’s built on a lie?

Bellamy is waiting outside her quarters and he doesn’t so much speak as talk with his entire body. There are questions in his eyes and concern etched into the space between his brows and his shoulders tense as she draws near. It’s the last part that gets her, that fighting stance she knows too well, but she’s in no mood for it tonight.

Her own shoulders slump and her head feels incredibly heavy, almost too heavy to hold upright, and Bellamy’s mouth quirks into a sympathetic grin as she approaches. “That bad, huh?”

“I saw Finn.” Her words cut through the night like a slap and Bellamy’s smile melts away.

“What did he say?”

Clarke swallows down the bile. “He doesn’t seem to get what he did. I think he understands that eighteen people are dead, but I’m not sure that he knows it’s his fault.” It hangs in the air, the way he foisted that blame on her.

Bellamy’s face twists angrily. “Fucking Spacewalker,” he curses under his breath.

The nickname is a misnomer, but the sentiment isn’t wrong. Clarke remembers the two kids in the dropship, the lies only revealed by Raven’s untimely arrival, the excuses he made for the lives he took in her name. Finn might not have wasted a month’s supply of air, but he’s still perfected the art of floating away from his obligations.

“Yeah,” Clarke says softly to the dirt. “Fucking Spacewalker.”

“You okay?” Bellamy asks after a beat. He sounds worried, but Clarke’s too tired to care. Or maybe she just _doesn’t_ care. She’s seen Bellamy at his lowest; there’s no harm in letting him peer inside her just the tiniest bit.

She tries a nod but it’s too much, the energy it takes to raise her head, so her chin kind of wobbles under the curtain of her hair.

“Clarke,” Bellamy sighs, grasps her hips so she falls forward into the muscled planes of his chest. He grunts as she digs her nose into the dip in his sternum, but doesn’t push her away. He lets go of her hips instead, slides his hands up her back until his thumbs press into the base of her skull.

His breath catches in her hair as he kneads the knotted muscles, in and out, in and out, while her breathing slows to match the even beat of his heart. She can feel it thudding against hers, separated by little more than a thin layer of skin and bone. 

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Clarke manages to ask, her voice muffled by the worn cotton of his shirt. 

“O spent sixteen years under our floor. I learned a few tricks to make it easier.”

Nothing about him changes, but Clarke knows what it means for him to share his past with her, and she smiles into his chest, right above his heart. “Octavia is lucky to have you.”

He doesn’t respond, but his hands still a moment, rough fingertips catching in the fine hair at the nape for her neck. He pulls away, signaling the end of the massage, but Clarke can feel his hands on her long after they part ways; she can feel his steady presence when she closes her eyes and falls into a fitful sleep.

She’s lucky to have him too.

 

* * *

 

Her theory is tested during a unity feast several days later.

It’s held at Lexa’s headquarters, in the basement of an abandoned subway station, and in a different life, Clarke would have taken the time to explore the intricate mosaics and scribbled graffiti. In this life, she’s too concerned about getting through the meal without incident to pay much attention to their surroundings, and it comes back to haunt her during the first toast.

The Grounders are, rightly so, still on edge about the massacre, and Gustus insists on testing Lexa’s drink before she sips from a bottle of moonshine that Kane presented as a gift. Clarke lets out a relieved breath as he raises the goblet to his lips, because it feels like they’re finally making progress, so she barely holds back a scream when Gustus lets out a strangled cry and collapses. 

Spears are drawn and noise fills the room, and Clarke closes her eyes while her world falls apart again. She stays silent as the Grounders file out to decide her people’s fates. Octavia and Lincoln pace and Raven tinkers with a piece of wire in the corner and her mother and Kane talk in hushed tones. Clarke doesn’t even care what they’re discussing. Her mother might be chancellor, but it’s in name only. She rests her head in her hands while she tries to come up with a solution. Bellamy sits at her side the entire time and while he doesn’t say anything either, she feels calmer knowing that he’s there. 

Then, Lexa starts interrogating prisoners.

They take Raven first. She’d been loaded with weapons at the gate and angry about the entire event because they wouldn’t let her see Finn, but they’d also found a vial of poison in her things. 

Bellamy holds Clarke back as they tie Raven to a post and hand Lexa the knife. “I take no joy in this, Raven,” Lexa says solemnly. “But this time, justice will be done.”

Anger flares anew in Raven’s eyes at the mention of Finn and she glares at her captors. “I didn’t do it. How is that justice?” she hisses, but the evidence is too damning. Lexa ignores her and slices through Raven’s upper arms. Indra follows by cutting a swath across Raven’s stomach.

Bellamy’s hand tightens around Clarke’s elbow as Raven’s screams fill the clearing and she desperately replays the events of the day: the search at the gate, Gustus nearly knocking over the goblet in his haste to protect Lexa, how quick he’d been to blame Raven. He’d been too quick, without hesitation or doubt, and the truth clicks into place. 

She tugs free of Bellamy’s hold and ignores his protest, turning to the assembled Grounders instead. “I need that bottle now.” Lexa grants her request and she reaches for the bottle, a carafe of frosted glass that someone brought aboard the Ark centuries ago. “One of your people tried to kill you, Lexa, not one of mine. I can prove it.” She takes a hearty swig, keeps chugging through her mother’s cries and the Grounders’ gasps. She wipes her mouth and confirms her hunch. “The poison wasn’t in the bottle. It was in the cup.”

Bellamy meets her eyes, the worry in his gaze shifting to fury as he turns all that rage on Gustus. “It was you. He tested the cup, he searched Raven.” 

Lexa’s face is blank behind her warpaint, but her eyes show the depth of her betrayal. “Gustus would never hurt me,” she insists even as she turns to her trusted protector, eyes blazing behind her mask.

Gustus doesn’t deny it though and Lexa’s normally calm face twists in betrayal. Clarke turns away when Lexa picks up her sword and rushes into the bunker to get away from Gustus’s screams.

It takes less than five minutes for Lexa to execute the traitor, barely the blink of an eye, and she’s all calm efficiency when she and her guard come inside to finalize the agreement. But she can’t quite hide the pinch of her lips or the way her nostrils flare, and Clarke hurries through the meeting before anything else goes wrong.

Nothing does, and the Sky People are quickly on their way back to Camp Jaha, ready to launch their attack in two days. Kane leads the procession, while Abby rides with Raven in the wagon. They’ve been allowed to keep the horses, a peace offering from Lexa, and Clarke spends the long walk home thinking about the first time she saw them, that day on the bridge, the blood that was spilled again and again. She watches the horses’ tails swish back and forth, listens to the even clip of their hooves on the path. Today could have ended differently, but they found another way. She has to believe Mount Weather will be the same.

Bellamy walks quietly at her side, rifle cocked and eyes constantly scanning the perimeter. They’ve been granted safe passage but Bellamy accepts no assurances. She feels safer knowing he’s watching over her.

“How’d you know it was Gustus?” she asks after they’ve been on the road an hour. When she exhausts her thoughts on the horses, she returns to the near battle they just escaped. It had been one thing to prove Lexa wrong, but another to find the right culprit.

Bellamy is quiet a moment, makes a show of peering through his rifle scope into the trees before he finally turns to look at her. It’s dark but there are stars and they light up the intensity in his eyes. “He’d do anything for her, to protect her,” he says softly, never breaking their gaze. His eyes darken even more. “It just made sense.”

He keeps looking at her, hot and intense in the starlight, and the message couldn’t be more clear: for her, he’d make the same choice. 

Clarke clears her throat, but her voice is still raspy when she speaks. “Of course.” Bellamy watches her with a knowing grin, even when she makes an excuse about checking on Raven and hurries to the front of the group. 

She feels his eyes on her the entire way home. It takes everything in her not to look back.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy kisses her his last night in camp.

Most of the Ark wreckage has been repurposed for housing or spare parts, but there are some sections that were ruined beyond repair. Clarke finds Bellamy perched atop a section of the Go-Sci station that landed on its side. A piece of the once mighty wheel rises awkwardly from the earth, reaching almost to the stars.

They’re especially clear that night, so many stars that she loses count. On the Ark, they seemed close enough to touch but on earth they seem more real. When Clarke closes her eyes and tilts her chin towards the sky, she can almost feel them, cold and glittering against her cheek.

Bellamy has chosen a particularly precarious piece of wreckage, wide enough for two and level enough to recline. He’s on his back with his hands propped under his head. His eyes are closed but he’s awake, Clarke can tell from the way a slight smile curves his mouth and he scoots over to make room.

She slides down next to him, and he’s long and lean but still manages to take up all the space. She can feel him too, the heat drifting from his skin. It’s a cool night, but he keeps her warm without a single touch. 

“Tell me a story,” she says quietly, looks for constellations amongst the stars. He’s given enough speeches; she figures a story is easily in his wheelhouse. Science was always her forte, although rarely the physical branches. She knows they meant something in antiquity, princesses and heroes and brave rebels. She wants to know how they won; she needs to believe her people will too.

Bellamy shifts and points to a spot over Clarke’s head. “Do you see the Big Dipper there?” He takes her hand, large, strong fingers wrapping around her smaller ones, and helps her find the right sightline. 

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, to locate a pattern amongst so much light, but then she find it, exclaiming softly when she finds the dipper. “I see it!”

Bellamy chuckles, a laugh that rumbles its way up their joined arms and makes her discovery even better. “Okay, this is the hard part.” He takes her hand again, adjusts its position. “Look at the bucket of the dipper. The northeastern point should rise up a bit.” He waits for her confirmation before continuing. “Keep looking in that direction until you see a star that’s brighter than the rest. That’s the North Star.”

Clarke tries to remember why it’s familiar. She can name all two hundred six bones, each muscle group and related tendons and ligaments, but this star’s significance eludes her. It’s frustrating and she hates being frustrated. “Why is it so important?”

Bellamy lowers their hands but doesn’t pull his away, even when Clarke gasps from the pins and needles making hers ache. He only flexes their fingers, tries to get the feeling back. “Centuries ago, the United States was a nation divided, half slave and half free. Polaris is the only star that remains in a fixed position. Wherever we are in the world, we all see the same thing. When slaves were escaping to freedom, they’d follow that star.”

He tugs her a little closer, so their upper arms brush, and Clarke even rests her temple against his shoulder. “You leave for Mount Weather tomorrow.”

“I know.”

She pauses, tries to find the right words. They’ve sacrificed so much for this alliance, for the promise of a future. She needs him to understand what’s truly at stake. “Fifty-two dead,” she says softly, sucks in a breath around the weight lodging in her chest. She already closed the door on Bellamy once; she won’t do it again. “I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

“Clarke,” he sighs, cups her jaw and turns her head so she’s looking right into his eyes. It’s dark but she they’re black and burning and filled with promises. “I’m coming home.” 

She bites her lip to keep from feeling more. “I won’t accept anything less.”

He smiles, all laughter and joy. “Just this once, I’ll let you give the orders.” Then he surprises her, leans in and presses his mouth to hers. It’s light, barely more than a butterfly kiss, but his lips are soft and warm and burn as they slide over hers. He’s still smiling when he pulls away, tender and wistful as he brushes her hair from her face. “In case I get lost, I’ll follow the star.” 

He pushes to his feet and holds up a hand, helps her down from the Ark and walks her back to her tent. He’ll be gone in the morning, but some of the tightness has eased from her chest. 

Bellamy has yet to break a promise.

 

* * *

 

They leave for the mountain.

Clarke hates the plan, but there’s no getting around it. Mount Weather has the weapons, but the combined Sky People/Grounder armies have the element of surprise. As Bellamy pointed out during an early planning session, if she could make it out, he could make it in. The idea sticks, expands and broadens, and before Clarke knows it, she’s standing outside their camp watching Bellamy, Lincoln, and Wick head towards the tunnels.

It’s a simple plan: Lincoln leads them through the tunnels; Wick disables the security system; Bellamy watches their backs. The bulk of the army will move in through a hatch at the mountain’s peak and release their people. Clarke worries that the plan is too simple. If anything goes wrong, there are no alternatives. If anyone is captured, he’ll be lost to the mountain forever.

The camp resumes mobilization once the trio departs through the gate, but Clarke hangs back a bit, watches the strong line of Bellamy’s back as he heads towards the forest.

A hand slips into hers, long-fingered but small, and Clarke looks over to see Octavia at her side. Her dark head is held high but her hand grips Clarke’s like a lifeline. Clarke can’t imagine what the other girl is feeling, her brother and lover marching off to war, but she understands it a bit. Her chest feels tight just from the thought of Bellamy never coming back. “It’s a good plan,” she says and squeezes Octavia’s hand. 

Octavia nods briskly but doesn’t look away as Lincoln disappears into the trees. “I hope it’s worth the risk,” she says softly, blinks rapidly at what might be tears.

Clarke watches the sway of the leaves in the morning breeze, the sky lighting up in milky shades of red and orange. Sunrise still takes her breath away, even on a day like this. 

Another set of footsteps interrupts the quiet and then Raven’s standing on Clarke’s other side, her mouth set into a thin line as she silently takes Clarke’s free hand and holds on tight. 

The sun climbs higher in the sky and the colors fade to a bright, brilliant blue. The girls say their own prayers but ask for the same thing: they pray the people they love will come home.

 

* * *

 

To everyone's, but mostly Clarke’s, surprise, the plan goes off without a hitch.

Lincoln leads them through the tunnels and Wick dismantles the computers and Bellamy knocks out the guards without shedding any blood. It’s more than anyone could have hoped for.

With the security feeds out, the combined army is able to easily slip into the mountain and free their people. Just the threat of radiation exposure brings Cage to his knees. There was much discussion about the size of the army, but Clarke’s glad they chose to bring a considerable force. All the Grounders and many of her own people are incapacitated, and there’s a group consensus that anyone can be a medic when necessary. Lexa leads the group out, but Clarke supervises the liberation.

She spots Bellamy halfway down the column, carrying a blonde girl named Bree. Clarke remembers her well; she was one of the girls in Bellamy’s tent the night Raven fell to earth. She expects jealousy, a hot flash of envy burning her cheeks, but she only feels pride at the man he’s become, how much he’s changed since those early, chaotic days. He just risked his life for people who aren’t Octavia, and is working to save them still. 

He catches her eye as he moves down the line, a bright, dazzling smile breaking out across his face. 

She feels like their first night on the ground, two-headed deer and giant snakes be damned, and she remembers the way she smiled when Jasper crossed the river, like anything was possible, like she was where she was always meant to be. She feels all those things now, but more, because so much has happened since and the world still feels full of possibility.

She doesn’t hide any of how she feels when she smiles back.

 

* * *

 

There’s pandemonium when their ragged party arrives back at camp. Nearly all the Grounders need medical treatment and Harper and Bree can’t walk. Abby rises to the challenge and creates a makeshift hospital, the adult members of Camp Jaha and Grounder civilians tasked with helping the injured.

Clarke watches as what's left of the hundred reunite with parents and each other; there’s practically a line of teenagers waiting to hug Bellamy. Monty won’t leave her side and Fox keeps gazing at her with adoring eyes. It’s a lot of attention but she’s too relieved by the turn of events to be embarrassed. 

Across the camp, Lexa is talking in hushed tones with Indra and Kane and Clarke starts making her way towards them. There’s the issue of the reapers, and what to do with the mountain men, and she doesn’t want them making a decision without her.

Abby catches her arm before she reaches the small group. “Let it go, honey.”

Clarke jerks back, blinks up at her mother. “What?”

Abby smiles, like she did when Clarke was small, like she can make everything better. “There’s nothing more you can do tonight. Your people are home.” She nods her head towards where the rescued have gathered, then glances over at the overflowing med-bay. “I got this.”

Clarke’s tempted to protest, to push back, to point out all the many things that still need to be done, but just this once she lets her mom decide for her. She’s done her part. She’s saved the day, _saved_ her people. She’s owed this.

“Okay,” she says, watches Bellamy take a seat next to Miller on a fallen log.

She heads for the fire. She heads to Bellamy.

 

* * *

 

“Where’s Finn?” Monty asks then passes the moonshine to Jasper. He’s been staring gloomily into the fire since Clarke joined them. Maya’s still trapped in the mountain and he’s worried about her, but he perks up at the mention of Finn’s name. 

That familiar tightness lodges in Clarke’s chest, clenches as she takes in her friends’ eager faces. They deserve the truth, much as she doesn’t want to tell it. “He’s at the Grounder camp,” she finally says, glares at Murphy when he snorts from across the fire.

“Shut up, Murphy,” Bellamy snaps, but Murphy just rolls his eyes.

“Don’t sugar coat it, Clarke,” Murphy says. “He killed eighteen people and landed in Grounder prison.” 

She keeps glaring at him, although she’s thankful that he left out why Finn went on a killing spree. “Finn kind of lost it,” she tries to explain. “It’s a long story, but he’s staying with Lincoln’s people to pay for his crime.” 

Monty and Miller exchange glances, worry and concern passing between them, and a bit of pity too, and it makes Clarke want to get away. She needs to get away, but it’s also the wrong thing to do. She’s a leader – running away isn’t an option.

Bellamy slips inside her head, reads her the way he’s been doing more and more lately, and makes a joke about Miller’s beard. The conversation turns, something about chocolate cake and rock music, but Clarke’s having trouble focusing because Bellamy’s hand has disappeared beneath her jacket.

It rests just over the waistband of her pants and his fingers are calloused but still soothing as his hand rubs small circles across her lower back. She wants to give him more, rest her head on his shoulder and let him take her weight, but she’s a leader and she needs to be strong. 

She doesn’t brush his hand away, lets his fingers skate over her bare skin. It gives her all the strength she needs.

 

* * *

 

She goes to him later that night. 

Bellamy’s quarters are in the remains of Tesla station, not far from where he grew up, and he has a single room with a bed and chest, but a window that lets the moonlight in.

His turns in while she checks on each of her charges, makes sure they know where to sleep and the location of the latrine, before she starts in the direction of the quarters she shares with her mother.

She can still feel Bellamy’s hands on her, the warmth of his skin and the strength in his wrists, and she’s had enough of being strong. She did all she needed to do. It’s time for what she wants, what she deserves.

He’s in bed when she slips into his room, sheets tucked around his hips and moonlight highlighting the contours of his bare chest. He was muscled when they landed but the ground has made him stronger, tougher, and all the more beautiful. She sucks in a breath at the sight of him, and it’s loud enough to wake him up.

Bellamy smiles at her sleepily and pushes up on his elbows. “Clarke.” He looks at her with amusement, like she’s playing some kind of epic joke on him. 

He couldn’t be more wrong and she’s grateful for it, because it gives her the courage she needs to smirk knowingly as she slowly slides down the zipper of her jacket. He doesn’t react when her jacket falls to the floor, or when she tugs off her boots and socks, but his eyes round slightly as she pulls her shirt over her head. He swallows hard as her pants follow and she’s walking slowly towards him in her bra and underwear.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and her smile turns endearing as he works so very hard to keep his eyes on her face.

Clarke doesn’t answer, just leans down to kiss him instead. It’s hesitant at first, no more than that kiss under the stars, but then she opens her mouth to take a breath and his tongue slips inside and it’s hot and hard and she finds it difficult to breathe for entirely different reasons. 

Then, it gets slow between them, even when neither of them are wearing any clothes and he’s sliding fingers and tongue down the length of her legs. He keeps looking at her too, his eyes soft and almost sad, and he touches her like at any moment she’ll break.

It’s sweet but not what she wants. Finn was all feeling, fear and desire and grief rolled into a furious meeting of their bodies. She doesn’t want that, but she wants more than this. She wants him to give her something she’ll remember into the next day.

“Bellamy,” she sighs and tugs at his hair until he raises his head from where he’s pressing soft kisses to her knee. “I…I want more. I’m not fragile.”

He rests his weight on his forearms and just looks at her, all that sadness pooling in the dark depths of his eyes. “It’s not about you,” he says softly. “I need this for me.” His fingers trace patterns over her inner thigh, circle her belly button, press gently over the points of her hips. It’s like he’s trying to memorize her, store this night away for another day because…

“You think this is a one time thing,” she says softly. 

His fingers still. “A lot happened today. I know it’s a relief –”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes and reaches up to kiss him instead, hard and desperate and full of all the things she’s been holding back. “I thought you might die,” she says against his mouth. “But then you came home. You came home and I didn’t have to hide anymore.” She slides her hands down his back, grips his hips and pulls him flush against her. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Bellamy takes control, like the early days, and his hands and mouth are everywhere and Clarke can feel everything, every nerve lighting up as she arches against him. “You ready?” he asks and she nods, clings to his shoulders as she slides down around him. 

He gives her a moment to adjust and she’s never thought of herself as one of those girls, but she can’t hide her sigh when she realizes he’s inside her, _part_ of her, and nothing will be the same between them again. 

She’s the first to move, using her knees for leverage as she picks herself up and falls back again, and continues setting the pace even as he pushes up so her breasts press against the hard planes of his chest. It’s nothing like anything she experienced with Finn, especially when she comes apart in his arms and there’s something very much like love swimming in his eyes.

She doesn’t look away even though she knows he sees the same things in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of things to share. 1). The more this fic develops, the more it feels like a companion to “My Tears Are Becoming a Sea”. The former explored the consequences of Finn’s death, but the latter explores what could have happened had he lived. I’m annoyed that he continued to blame Clarke for his actions, the excuse that he was trying to save her, and it will be a key theme: how Clarke rebuilds her life with that guilt heaped onto her shoulders. 2). The last time I wrote anything over a light R was a “Dark Angel”(!!!!) fic over a decade ago, and while this fic is by no means smut, it’s probably the most detailed sex scene that I’ve written since. Please do not mock, although feel free to laugh via the privacy the internet affords. Either way, the rating just went up. 3). As with most of my multi-part fics, I’m bad at estimating story length. It will now be three chapters rather than two. Thank you for the support for Part I. Title courtesy of Matthew Ryan. Enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been eating away at me all week and I finally was just like, "Fine! I'll write it." It follows the events of 2x08, except Finn survives his trial and Clarke has to face all the very many ways he’s changed. I've never written an intentionally canon-based AU so please by gentle. Title courtesy of Matthew Ryan. Enjoy.


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